


Taking a Chance on Love

by bluecinderella4



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Valentine's gift to jemmahearteyessimmons, WWII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6031566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecinderella4/pseuds/bluecinderella4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WWII AU: He didn't go out expecting anything to happen-he was going off to war after all. Naturally, that's when he meets her. One conversation, one dance, and she's the one he's going to come home to. A Valentine's gift for tumblr user jemmahearteyessimmons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking a Chance on Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jemmahearteyessimmons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmahearteyessimmons/gifts).



> I signed up for FitzSimmons secret valentine and the prompt I was given was 'Fitzsimmons and the song Taking A Chance On Love by Helen Forrest' from jemmahearteyessimmons. This brought me excitement because it was a song I never knew, and when I listened to the song I was intrigued because it's a classic 40's swing song with music provided by Benny Goodman. I don't know if anyone knows, but I love past music (today's music, not so much). I also listened to more covers to get an idea of how it's been covered and try to get some inspiration when I did.
> 
> That's how I got the inspiration to do a World War II AU. I was trying not to do a wartime romance, but the plot bunnies! So many plot bunnies! Selfishly, I also wanted to challenge myself to see if I could create a believable romance where the couple meet, get separated, and then reunite. Another truth be told, I'm also a sucker for wartime romances.
> 
> jemmahearteyessimmons, I hope you are too. If you're not, that's okay, you're still awesome. I hope you enjoy your gift, Happy Valentine's Day.

_Summer, 1943_

"Eh, you oughta have one night of freedom before the army decides what to do with ya," Lance Hunter roughly threw his arm around a younger man's shoulder. Awkwardly, the younger man tugged on the bag strap around his shoulder. "Come on, Fitzy," Hunter led the way inside a nightclub where a band was finishing off their instrumental rendition of _'That Old Black Magic'_. "First round's on me." When Hunter got to the bar, he whistled for attention. "Oi, Spud!" he called to the bartender. "Pour me two shots of your finest whiskey."

"What's the occasion?" Spud inquired.

"I just got divorced, tomorrow I leave for war, and tonight," Hunter shook Fitz, "I'm gonna get me and my new pal, Fitz, laid!"

Fitz's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "Excuse you!?"

"Separate ladies, separate ladies."

"While I appreciate your interest in my personal life," of course Fitz had a sarcastic edge toward him, "I can't see the point in gettin' to know a woman if we're goin' to up and leave 'em the next day."

"Does the concept 'one night stand' escape you?"

Fitz disapprovingly rolled his eyes as Spud put two shot glasses and whiskey in front of them. "Nothin' for me, thanks," Fitz stood up.

"Oi! Where you goin'?"

"Away from you," Fitz didn't need to say any more as he hurried away from Hunter and over to an empty booth. Sitting down, he reached into his bag for a very worn out piece of reading material, and tried to find peace amidst a crowded club.

His hopes were soon dashed when he heard someone approach his table. "Excuse me?"

Wanting to avoid interaction, Fitz kept his eyes on his book. So it was safe for him to assume he was talking to the club's cigarette girl. "I don't want any, thanks."

"Any what?" Fitz looked at the woman who responded back. She appeared to be about his age, she was evidently British, and he was staring into her eyes for an uncomfortably long moment with his mouth agape. "Are you alright?"

Fitz blinked himself into reality. "Fine. Sorry. So uh...how can I do you?" He realized his gaffe. "Bugger!" The girl emitted a small giggle. "I mean...uh...hi."

"Hello," and now he was staring at her smile. "I was hoping I could join you."

"Yeah, sure," like a gentleman, he stood up as she took her seat. "I'm sorry I said what I said. I didn't mean it. I wanted to say 'how can I help you', and it almost came out 'what can I do for you', but in the end it came out like...that."

"It's fine, really. Please, you don't have to be so nervous."

"Sorry; not a lot of women approach me."

"I honestly wouldn't have, but I have a favor to ask."

"Ask _me_?"

She nodded. "See, my girlfriends brought me here and a bunch of men who are going off to war keep flirting with us and-"

"-it's really uncomfortable."

"Exactly. I saw you were alone and I thought-"

"-you thought guys wouldn't come up to you if they saw you with another man."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. There are worse ways to be used."

"If this is really a bother to you, I'll leave."

"Really, it's alright. Be nice to have company from someone who isn't a complete wanker."

"Is it safe to assume your friends dragged you here as well?"

" _Friend_ ," Fitz took a second to think, "at least I think he's my friend."

Another small giggle escaped her. "Pardon my asking, but what's the occasion?"

"We're both goin' off to train for the war tomorrow. He brought me here to get me laid."

"Oh."

Fitz suddenly became flustered. "Oh, crap! Please don't think I'm comin' on to you or anythin'! It's not that I wouldn't, I would…" he cut himself off to avoid any further Freudian slips. "I should prob'ly shut up."

"No, please; I don't like sitting in awkward silence. I enjoy conversation," there was a brief pause in said conversation. "And if you're going to play along with my charade I should probably get to know you..." her trailing off was the cue for him to introduce himself.

"Fitz."

"Fitz?" Fitz nodded. "That's a tad unusual for a name. Is 'Fitz' short for something?"

"No, I just prefer people call me by my last name."

"Oh, so like Mr. Fitz?"

"No, please, just Fitz."

"Okay, _Fitz_."

"So, what should I call you?"

"Simmons."

" _Simmons_?"

"You won't tell me your first name; why should I tell you mine? Why bother getting to know one another if this is going to be our only night together?"

"How do you know this is goin' to be our only night together?"

It was evident this question took Simmons aback, but she quickly composed herself. "Isn't it? You're obviously Scottish and you meet a random British girl at a crowded nightclub the night before you go off to fight in a war very few men have safely returned from. If, God willing, you survive, you'll want to be with your family and you'll go back to Scotland." She noticed Fitz tense up. "What?"

"I don't have a family anymore."

"Anymore?"

"I never knew my father and my mum…"

Simmons could tell this had taken a rather grim turn, but she was still curious. "Fitz?"

"…my mum died when the Germans bombed Aberdeen in April."

"Oh my God. Fitz, I...I'm so sorry."

"What do I have to go back to in Scotland? All I had was my mum and my job, but I lost both in one day."

"Do you have any friends?"

"No."

"That's not true," she reached across the table and took his hand in hers, "you have me." Fitz looked up at her. "And you've also got the wanker who brought you here to get you laid, but I'm sure that's of little comfort." That got Fitz to smile. "Fitz," she got serious again, "please know that I am your friend."

"Thank you, Simmons."

Whatever peace Fitz yearned for was achieved when he and Simmons spent the next few moments staring at each other as if no one else was there. Eventually, the changing of a song snapped them back to reality. It was a familiar song, but the band was playing it slower and without a singer. The dance floor began filling up with various pairs of men and women swaying to the smooth sounds of Benny Goodman.

Fitz then surprised even himself when he got up and extended his hand to Simmons as a way of asking her to dance with him. She stared at his hand and hesitated as if something was holding her back. "Come on," Fitz took her hand in his, "dance with a stranger."

Flashing a small smile, Simmons took Fitz's hand and together they made their way to the dance floor. He could feel his palms begin to sweat as he put his free hand (awkwardly) around her waist. It wasn't like Simmons could tell though. She was hoping he wouldn't feel her clammy hand on his shoulder. Without giving much of a conscious thought, they were soon swaying to the music.

And for some unknown reason, everything clicked. Here were two random people brought together by chance dancing in a crowded nightclub as if they were the only two people on earth. No words needed to be spoken between them. They each knew there was something there, but there was also a different something keeping them from admitting it to even themselves.

Sometime before the song started winding down, Simmons put her head on Fitz's shoulder and in turn, Fitz's began gently stroking her back. When the song ended and they pulled apart, Fitz discovered Simmons had tears pooling in her eyes. With a comforting smile, he brushed her hair back and wiped a fallen tear with his thumb.

She responded to that by placing a gentle kiss on his cheek and whispering in his ear, "Come back to me."

A simple nod was all she needed to know that he intended to honor that vow.

...

_Autumn, 1943_

It was only natural that life went on. Of course Fitz and Simmons corresponded with one another through letters. There was the rare instance Fitz could get in a phone call from the training base, but those conversations were limited to less than ten minutes. Fitz and Simmons took this time to learn a little more about one another; likes, dislikes, talents, hobbies, quirks, family, friends, lost loved ones, embarrassing stories, and hopes/dreams/plans for the future. The two also kept their first names a secret; planning only to reveal them when he came back. Still, neither one of them had spoken or written 'I love you'. While their admiration and affection for one another were evident in other ways, those three little words had yet to be said.

_Simmons-It's getting likely I'll see any action. I'm definitely not fit for fighting and the training seems to be of little use. Granted, I have bulked up just a wee bit, but my forte is obviously engineering. I'll most likely be stuck behind some desk at a top secret lab making weapons, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. There really isn't much to say that hasn't been said already. Just know that I miss you, I'm glad to hear you're doing well, and hopefully, we'll see each other soon.-Fitz_

...

_Winter, 1943_

"You've seemed to leave an impression with your training," Fitz's superior officer complimented him. "We've figured out what to do with you: Captain Phil Coulson has asked for you specifically. He feels you'll be most helpful as a combat engineer with his battalion. You're set to leave this Friday."

Fitz was stunned by this news. "That's in three days!"

"I'm well aware."

"Wh-where is Captain Coulson stationed?"

"That information is provided in this classified folder," he held up the folder. "I can only report that Captain Coulson is stationed across the pond."

"In the _United States_?"

"So it appears you're skilled in time telling and geography."

"Sir-"

He handed Fitz the file. "All the information you need is in there. Be grateful you're getting briefed before you leave; this way you can write your little girlfriend and let her know."

"Simmons is not my girlfriend."

"I don't care who she is or isn't; at least we're letting you tell her your new location. You have your orders, you're dismissed."

_Fitz-I hope you get this message before I leave the country. Yes, you read that last part right. England isn't safe anymore and I'm terrified at the thought of my town being targeted for an attack when it seems all others have been. Children are being sent out of the country for their safety, and my parents suggest the same for me (even though I am a grown woman). I'll be staying with the pen pal I told you about, Daisy Johnson. We've been corresponding since primary school and have become friends without ever meeting one another (though we have occasionally sent a photo or two). She lives in an apartment somewhere in California, I never can remember the name of the bloody city without looking at the return address on the envelope. I promise I'll send the address as soon as I arrive in America. Please don't respond until I send you the address, this is merely a warning letter. I miss you dreadfully, and I pray I'll see you soon. In case I don't, I just want to wish you a Happy Christmas. Please be careful.-Simmons_

...

_Spring, 1944_

"Oh, Lincoln," Daisy swooned over her letter as she read. After a quick gasp, she let out another, more flirtatious, "Oh, Lincoln," with a lovestruck giggle following that statement.

"I take it the mail arrived?" Simmons questioned.

"Yep," Daisy handed a letter to Simmons. "It's from your boyfriend."

"Fitz isn't my boyfriend."

"Keep telling yourself that." The ever curious Daisy watched Simmons read over the letter. "What's it say this time?"

"Fitz has officially made a friend. His name is Alphonse MacKenzie, and he's a mechanical engineer."

"Ooh, boring."

"Shush, I'm happy for Fitz; he doesn't really have any friends. Poor thing, he's so shy and socially awkward."

"From what you told me, he didn't seem socially awkward the night you met."

"Well he was."

"So what changed? How did he go from poor socially awkward thing to...whatever he is now?"

"I don't know."

"But he's not your boyfriend?" There was a bout of silence before Daisy continued. "You're the one holding back aren't you? You're afraid to fall in love again."

"I don't know if I loved Will. I felt obligated to be with him after he saved my life and then took me to dinner. I thought I loved him, but now..."

"Did you ever tell Will you loved him?"

"No, he told me though. The last time I saw him we kissed, he said I love you, and my last words to him were 'I'll see you when you get back'." Simmons sighed. "You can see how well thought out those words were."

"So a guy you barely know tells you he loves you and dies. So what?"

"Daisy!"

"It's so obviously different with Fitz. You two have gotten to know each other and are like inseparable without even being together," Simmons knew this was going to continue, so she resumed reading her letter while her friend kept talking. "Will tells you he loves you, and you didn't say it back because you didn't love him. How would you respond if Fitz said he loved you?" Daisy noticed a change in Simmons. "Hey, you okay?"

Simmons got up, letting her letter drop to the floor. "I need some air."

"Want me to go with you?"

"I'd rather be alone, thank you."

The always curious Daisy picked up the letter and read it over. " _I know you said we were best friends, but lately I've been thinking...you mean so much more than that_ ," she didn't read anymore after that. This letter was too personal and she should have minded her own business.

...

_Summer, 1944_

Antoine "Trip" Triplett finished playing ' _As Time Goes By'_ on his guitar and was greeted with applause from his fellow troop members. "C'mon fellas," he pretended to be modest. Shortly after, a siren went off and the men readied for battle.

"Private Trip," Captain Coulson met up with Trip, "we need some airmen."

"Alright, I'm game."

"There's a hitch. Our last available plane was hit, suffered some damage, but we got her up and flying again."

"So what's the hitch?"

"We couldn't really get anyone to fix the communication system. It'll take some time, and we need it working now."

"But how am I gonna communicate with the boys?"

"We're sending Private Fitz with you. He looked it over, there's a good chance he'll be able to get it working in air with some equipment."

"You sure he's ready for something like this?"

Coulson nodded. "I have faith in him."

Fitz was waiting by the plane tinkering with some electronic gizmo as Trip approached. "You ready, Fitz?"

"I didn't have much of a choice," Fitz got into the plane where other tools and electronics were waiting, "you need to keep in touch with the others and you're gonna need someone to fix your radio."

"They say you're the best."

"Damn right."

Trip chuckled. "Looks like you're packed for any major emergency." He noticed something peculiar. "Stationary?" Fitz looked up at him. "You writin' that girl again?"

"No."

"What's it been, three months?"

"Three months, two weeks, and five days."

"She okay?"

"I don't know."

"You think you said something in the last letter that got her upset?"

"Just that I love her."

"You used the words 'I love you'?"

Fitz fidgeted as he worked on his gizmo. "Not those words _exactly_."

"Then how did you-"

"Can we worry about this after this mission? Now go on, do your piloting thing."

Trip started up the plane. "Hang on to something back there, Fitz."

...

_Fitz, maybe there is something more to discuss._

"Sir," Mack strode over to Coulson, "this telegram arrived for Fitz. It's from her."

"Thought so," was all Coulson responded with as he read over the message. "I'll make sure he gets it when he wakes up."

"How is he?"

"No change."

"No change? He's been in this coma for days!"

"Well at least he's alive!" Coulson quickly composed himself.

"They found Trip's body didn't they?"

"Along with a few other pieces of the plane. It's a miracle they even found Fitz in that ocean." Coulson sighed. "The damage to his temporal lobe was too extensive. Hypoxia, the doctors call it."

"What's that mean?"

"It happened because his brain was deprived of Oxygen. When he wakes up—if he wakes up—we'll have to see what's been affected."

"He _will_ wake up."

_Daisy, baby, I love ya, and I'm comin' home! Got your attention? I finish up this October and I promise we'll do a couples costume theme for Halloween. Might I suggest the cowboy and the dance hall girl-you always did like that one. So to sum up what I said in the first sentence: Daisy, baby, I love ya, I'm comin' home, and I'm gonna marry ya! Love, Lincoln_

_..._

_Autumn, 1944_

"Yes, hello," someone answered on the other end of Daisy's line, "I'm trying to get a hold of Private Fitz." She listened. "What do you mean which one?" Daisy groaned. "No, I don't know his first name...or his division, I just know he's Scottish and he has quote 'the most unbelievable blue eyes I've ever seen'...yes, this is on behalf of his fiancée," that was a lie, obviously, but Daisy was afraid she wouldn't get the information without telling the person on the other end that. "You were of no help," she hung up and went over to Simmons. "They said any information on Fitz's status would have been sent via telegram to the person listed on his contact information."

"This is my fault," Simmons spoke quietly.

"You have got to stop saying that!"

"If I would have just responded to his letter then I may very well know why I haven't heard from him."

"He's probably missing in action like a lot of other men. Try to be a little more optimistic."

"I just know something happened to him, something bad."

"What are you like psychically linked to him? Maybe he never got your telegram; did you consider that option?"

"What if he's furious at me and won't talk to me?"

"The man loves you! He probably hasn't written because he's waiting to hear from you to make sure you felt the same way."

"And then something happened to him while he waited!"

"Don't think like that."

"I can't know for sure until I know he's okay. There has to be another way to get a hold of him."

"I can think of a way."

"How?"

"Give me the last letter Fitz sent you." Simmons did as she asked. Daisy used the rotary phone to dial the same number as before. "Yes, I'm Miss Simmons and I'm trying to get a hold of my fiancée," Daisy quickly looked at the letter, "Alphonse MacKenzie."

"What are you doing?" Simmons whispered.

"Can you put me in contact with him?" Daisy waited for a response. "Then can you tell him that a Miss Simmons is trying to reach him? Thank you." Daisy hung up. "I may not be able to get Fitz, but I can sure as hell try and get someone close to him."

There was a knock on the door. "Are we expecting company?"

"Not that I know of," Daisy's eyes lit up. "It's Lincoln! It has to be!" She ran to the door and practically flung it open only to find another soldier on the other side. "Can I help you?"

The soldier took off his hat as a sign of respect. "I am sorry for you loss," he handed Daisy a paper before she closed the door on him and read over the message. With her hand over her heart, she leaned against the door.

"It's Fitz, isn't it?"

Daisy read the letter aloud before completely breaking down. " _Dear Miss Johnson: we regret to inform you that Private Lincoln Campbell died as a result of his injuries on the first of October, 1944. We send our deepest condolences."_

"Oh, Daisy," Simmons extended her arms for Daisy to fall into and lent her a shoulder to cry on (which she did). As she did her best to comfort her distraught friend, she let a wave of relief wash over her knowing that her Fitz could still be out there somewhere.

_..._

_Winter, 1944_

"Time?" Fitz asked as he finished what he was working on.

Mack looked at his pocket watch. "Twelve minutes, forty-nine seconds; big improvement, Turbo." Without warning, an enraged Fitz shoved everything on the table onto the floor. "Whoa, hey, calm down!" Mack put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You're gettin' better."

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are."

"I can't be of any help anymore. I feel..." Fitz struggled to find the words.

"Useless?"

There was a long pause before Fitz nodded. "Yeah, useless."

"You'll get better; this rehabilitation therapy is really helping. Sit down, I wanna try something," Mack reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I wanna see how long it takes you to read that, unfolding it counts. Go on, read it out loud." Mack started the stopwatch as Fitz unfolded the paper.

" _Fitz_ ," Fitz began, " _I won't give up on you_. _You hold a special place in my heart and I hope I hold one in yours. I miss you. I hope we'll see each other soon_ ," Fitz stopped.

"Want me to call time?"

"This is from Simmons."

"She managed to get in contact with me. I wrote her and told her what happened."

"You did what?"

"I wasn't gonna tell her you were dead."

"She's better off believin' that."

"No, she isn't. Simmons loves you!" Fitz repeatedly shook his head no. "Yes, she does! She misses you! She wants you to come back to her."

"Like this? No, I'm not gonna be a...a...burden to her."

"Then the least you owe her is a proper goodbye; tell her why you're just gonna up and leave her."

"Let's try that puzzle again," Fitz dropped the subject. "I am goin' to get it under ten minutes."

_Alphonse MacKenzie: my name is Daisy Johnson, I'm Simmons' roommate. I know I shouldn't be doing this, but this is part of my grieving process: I've got a plan to get Fitz & Simmons together again, but I need to make sure you'll be able to come to San Marino, California. Please write back as soon as possible._

...

_February 14, 1945_

"Where exactly are we goin'?" Fitz questioned as Mack drove. Mack stayed silent. "You're up to somethin'."

"Found it," Mack stopped the car in front of a bistro.

"Looks French," Fitz commented as he got out of the car. "Why are we here?"

"I figured you'd be hungry after our long, _long_ drive."

"So you stopped here?"

"Thought we'd celebrate you completing your rehab."

When he stepped inside, Fitz was unclear how to assess the sight before him. The bistro was completely devoid of any people and in the center was a table for two. "What the hell? Mack, did you-" Mack seemed to have disappeared. "Bastard set me up," Fitz put his hands on his hips in ire as he looked around for Mack.

"Just sit down!" Mack loudly whispered from his unknown hiding place.

"Fine!" Fitz took a seat at the table where a sandwich was resting on the plate in front of him. "Is that prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella?"

"With a hint of pesto aioli," a familiar voice came from behind him. When Fitz stood up and faced her, Simmons smiled. "I made it myself." He continued to stare at her with his mouth agape. "I'm sorry if we deceived you, this was my friend Daisy's idea. She only told me about it yesterday and I wanted to try do something nice for you."

"Simmons?"

"Hi, Fitz," she was resisting the urge to run into his arms.

"Is it really you?"

Simmons couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "Who else would I be?" She took a long look at him. "You look well."

"Yeah," Fitz couldn't find the words to say so he gestured to his head. "You look different."

"Oh?"

"It's not bad different," he was quick to make sure he didn't accidentally offend her. "Just…hair."

Simmons couldn't help but giggle as she remembered their first meeting when he did something similar. "Yes, I got it cut a while ago."

"It's nice."

"Thank you." There was the awkward silence during small talk.

"I missed you!" they both blurted out simultaneously.

Fitz seemed genuinely surprised by this. "You did?" Simmons nodded. "But I thought...after my letter you..."

"I didn't know what to say."

"How about you felt the same?"

"At the time, I wasn't sure."

"So you realize it after I almost die?"

"I learned about that crash months after it happened! I was so scared for you! Do you know how relieved I was when I learned you were alive?"

"Alive and damaged."

"But alive!" Fitz stared at the ground. "Why didn't you come back to me?" There was no reply. "That Christmas after we met, I dreamt about us," this got him to look at her. "I'm not one who interprets dreams, but I felt that it meant something; that it still means something. I dreamt about us settling down in a cottage in Perthshire."

"Perthshire?" She nodded. "That's in Scotland."

Simmons let out a small laugh. "I know where it is, Fitz."

"Yeah, I figured you would," he took a second to think about phrasing what he wanted to say next. "But wouldn't you want to go back to England?"

"As long as you went back with me." Fitz took a moment to consider what she said. "Fitz, would you want to go back with me?"

"Simmons, I'd follow you to the ends of the earth."

"Do you mean that?"

Fitz nodded. "But if we're goin' to spend the rest of our lives together, we should prob'ly know each other's first names. You're not gonna keep the last name Simmons forever, are you?" He extended his hand. "I'm Leo."

She gently shook his hand. "I'm Jemma."

"Jemma." A familiar song started to play (more than likely courtesy of Mack or Daisy). FitzSimmons ignored the fact their friends were there spying on them. In that moment, it was as if they were the only two people on earth. Leo smiled at Jemma. "They're playin' our song."

She was trying to not to tear up at this. "You remember?"

"How could I forget?" He offered his hand for her to dance, which she took without hesitation.

The song hadn't even reached the vocals before she put her head on his shoulder. "You came back."

"What else was I gonna do?" he planted a tender kiss atop her head.

"I love you, Leo Fitz." Her declaring it first was the perfect confirmation of her feelings for the man who, in fact, came back to her. "I'll always be with you."

"I love you, Jemma Simmons; Happy Valentine's Day."

 _Here I go again_  
_I hear the trumpets blow again_  
_All aglow again_  
_Taking a chance on love_

 _Here I slide again_  
_About to take that ride again_  
_Starry eyed again_  
_Taking a chance on love_

 _I thought that cards were a frame-up_  
_I never would try_  
_But now, I'm taking the game up_  
_And the ace of hearts is high_

 _Things are mending now_  
_I see a rainbow blending now_  
_We'll have our happy ending now_  
_Taking a chance on love_


End file.
